Читать книгу Father Luke’s Journey into Darkness - Nancy Carol James - Страница 11

What happens when a priest falls? Bishop’s hands had been on his head, praying for the power of the Holy Spirit. And when priests’ hands reach out in destruction to others, the spirit worlds collide and evil grows and flourishes, all covered by the name of Holiness.

In the dark of the night, the priest, dressed entirely in black, walked by the closed Washington DC Convention Center, then looking both ways, walked to the side of the Andrew Carnegie Library to the hidden place under the immense, old tree. There he exercised a secret ritual. Taking out a vial of warm blood, he poured it on his hands and rubbed his wet hands through his arm, saying “Moloch! Moloch!” He waited and soon his glassy eyes spun wildly around, looking intently at each passerby. He knew now what to do.

Leaving as furtively as he arrived, in a rush of satisfaction, the priest thrust his tightly clasped fists over his head. He took out the Vatican knife. He stepped back, raised the knife over his head and swishing it down, hit the tree, tearing the bark open and revealing the tree’s tender interior. Sap ran out everywhere. He twisted and turned the knife, mutilating the bark in six different directions until the shape of a pinwheel hung on the surface like graffiti announcing chaos.

At the church home on Ash Wednesday, Oscar sang the day in with “Morning has Broken!” followed by the thump against the door of the thrown Washington Post with a small headline reading, “Another Park Defacement.”

The television in the corner droned on with the popular TV newscaster Gordon Peterson announcing, “More park vandalism occurred last night. In Mount Vernon Place Park, three oddly-shaped pinwheels with a circular wound were slashed in the hundred-year old oak tree. Horticulturists say that the bark has been penetrated and the tree might not survive. The police chief asks for help from the DC citizens for solving these continuing acts of vandalism. This makes the second park defacement.”

This news announcer was not the only one concerned about the mutilated trees.

The female police chief picked up the phone and called the mayor.

“This is not a major crime in our city with our problem of increasing numbers of murders, but I want to let you know that another tree has been defaced in a park with an odd pinwheel symbol. My forestry people say it might kill the tree.”

The mayor listened.

“But what concerns me are our cherry blossom trees. There was a half-done slash in one cherry blossom tree in Stanton Park and that tree recently died. It looks like someone lunges like hell at these trees, gashing and slashing. Rumors are spreading everywhere that there are occult activities in the parks.”

The mayor sighed. “In the wake of the sniper murders, now a tree-killer, right before our Cherry Blossom festival and that stressful International Monetary Fund meeting. If this gets out, it might hurt our popular festival.”

The chief of police continued, “It’s spooking people. And sometimes there is unexplained blood. Rumors are spreading everywhere people are getting attacked in our parks.” She paused. “And it might escalate. We don’t know the thinking of this kook. The symbol looks like two peace symbols on top of each other but it might have more meaning. It is like Zorro, a symbol done in extravagance and style. We don’t need any stylish killers here.”

The mayor spoke firmly. “Pull out all the stops to get this solved. Stop the bad publicity right before the IMF meeting.”

The following day after his hospital visiting, Luke had a command meeting at the Vatican embassy in DC, close to St. Charles Parish and the official residence of the US Vice President. Sighing, he noted the waving yellow-and white Vatican flag with two keys criss-crossing one another, one silver key of the world and the gold key to heaven.

In front of this embassy on Massachusetts Avenue NW, the lithe, gray-haired man stood on the front sidewalk for his long days of work. Not the gardener or the sexton, this man carried his signs that read, “Pedophiles work here” and on the flipside his message read, “Corrupt leaders!” Luke skirted carefully around this odd man thinking that of course a few rotten characters had gotten into the priesthood, but some bad apples can happen anywhere. The old guy stood looking around him, occasionally returning any friendly waves from passing cars. Suddenly the man turned towards Luke with a firm opening statement.

“I don’t listen to nuns who hit my hands with rulers.”

This appealed to Luke’s humor as he too remembered a few aimed taps by his own nun teachers. He smiled, “None of us liked it. You got my sympathy there.” Then a little louder he added, “But I got a good education.”

The committed man shook his head, “I don’t need anyone to order me around.”

Luke started walking away, yet the man leaned toward him, in an insistent voice, “You don’t need this bishop telling you what to do.”

Flashing through Luke’s mind were seminary memories of some dull lectures but balanced by the vibrant faith of others. Stunned that even for second he had agreed with this oddball, Luke stopped and responded, “I wish you well.” Even as he said it, he checked to see no one had overheard him. What would Bishop Cahill think about him even talking to this man? The bishop had declared this old guy a lunatic. The church had unsuccessfully tried through every legal means to deprive him of the Constitution’s First Amendment rights and banish him from this public sidewalk.

Luke knocked on the front door. As the butler admitted Luke to the required meeting, the man went back to yelling at passing cars, “This Catholic Church hides pedophiles!”

Luke stopped to look out the window at the strange man while worrying again about these meetings at the embassy. Why he was required to come? He knew the official story. The Roman Catholic Church with its shortage of priests understood that the remaining priests needed support. Even after the wild 1960s, many priests still renounced their ordination vows. So some bishops had decided to give the priests a chance to work on their relationships and hired therapists to lead the groups. Using a convenient location, Luke’s group met at the DC Vatican headquarters in a spacious, secluded room in the back of the building. The priests sat on comfortable, golden-brown couches as they faced another hour of required conversation.

The priests discussed personal issues, yet worried, Were they being spied upon? Were they open, partially open, or blowing them out of the water with our confrontations? More and more of the priests fit into the latter category.

Coming in late, Father Luke sat next to Jerry, who spoke. “To me, the problem is competition between priests. I think this is because our church has lost some of its strong Roman spiritual foundation.”

The young, red-haired Father Bruce spoke up, “I agree! We can’t speak openly in this diocese anymore. If I say something critical, will this comment make it back to the bishop? Then soon I’ll be transferred to some rural parish with hours of driving every day. Or even sent to Alaska!” The other priests murmured in agreement.

The friendly therapist, Dr. Wagner, intervened. “I guarantee you, Bruce, I will not break your confidences and speak to the hierarchical bishops and cardinals. I only report some general ideas about what we think about problems, so the church becomes more hospitable to priests.”

Jerry spoke out, “You are not the one we fear. The bishop has one of his generals here.” Jerry had forgotten to change the language that the priests used among themselves. Flushing, he added, “I mean, of course, we have one here who has a future vocation to the episcopate.”

This distinguished priest, Father Hudson from a wealthy and aristocratic background, quickly changed the subject. “We are all praying for the right bishops and cardinals.”

This sparked some quickly-fired remarks about their lives from the red-haired Bruce again. “The bishop needs to help me with my schedule.” He added, “We are dropping like flies!”

“I agree,” Jerry concluded. “We are a needy group now. It didn’t use to be this way.”

Bruce continued pushing. “But the church seems to be struggling now, maybe even dying. There are problems inside with clergy leaving, parishioners aging, and the young disappear, even after they are confirmed. Of course we are all on edge.”

Then in an almost inaudible voice, Hudson spoke out, “What is going on at St. Charles, Jerry?” Luke thought, why ask him and not me?

Jerry slowly answered, “We have a growing school and a large acolyte program. Many different boys now serve at the altar with us.”

Hudson persisted. “I heard a wild story of a teenage boy walking around followed by some of the kids. And other stories also.”

Jerry said slowly, “I’ll tell you what I know. An older acolyte started volunteering in the childcare room. Last month, he was stopped by a parish usher as he was taking a three-year-old boy away into an off-limits area.” The priests stared at Jerry, who paused and continued. “Monsignor Peter investigated and found out that the acolyte didn’t know the rules about being alone with young kids. He said he was only emotionally fond of this child.” Jerry ended lamely. “So I think the situation is resolved and over.”

No one dared a response.

Soon the group stopped for the day and the weary, black-clad priests found their way back to their churches.

Hannah sat at her desk going through piles of paper. Seeing Luke, she began quickly. “On April 26, you have an invitation to Bishop Cahill’s for a reception.” Luke looked at his feet briefly with the odd thought springing into his mind, You don’t need this bishop telling you what to do. “Please decline. I am busy that evening.” Without another word, he and Jerry walked into the monsignor’s office where Father Peter sat behind his desk. Peter briefly looked up but then quickly focused on the task.

Peter began, “We’re dividing up the schedule of masses now. Are you ready?”

Without a word, Luke took his calendar out of his pocket. The priests scattered into distant chairs with the setting sun creating shadows over their faces. Lines of variegated light slowly moved across the red Oriental rug on the floor.

Peter spoke, “Now we are looking at Lent heading to Easter. Luke, you will do the noon day masses Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.” He added, “You can enjoy your Sunday mornings off. Jerry and I will take the morning masses and you do the Saturday 5 p.m. ones.”

Luke looked down intently at the calendar.

The silence deepened.

“If that is what you want, Monsignor.”

Luke walked quickly upstairs.

In his room, he reached for his rosary beads and hoped for that inner vibrancy that came when he prayed. Now though, the beads seemed to lay flat and powerless in his hands as if they were martyred. Where was spiritual vitality? No more Sunday mornings? He would miss the parishioners and the community events.

“Darn it,” he whispered. “I don’t even know what is going on here.”

After a sleepless night, Luke rose at 5 a.m. and sat at the church office computer to print up the Scriptures for his noonday service. Knowing Peter was out for the day, Luke made himself comfortable in front of the computer and suddenly a pop-up ad with a scantily dressed couple jumped on the screen with a jarring headline announcing, “Hot men! Slutty women!” Luke quickly jerked the mouse around, desperately trying to make it go away, yet every time he thought he had successfully disabled this, the nearly naked woman appeared again. As soon as 9 a.m. rolled around, Luke called the diocesan computer services.

That same afternoon, the diocesan computer tech guy sporting blue jeans and a brown ponytail arrived. “There is one thing you can try yourself that may help stop these pop-ups. With Internet Explorer open, choose Tools, Internet Options.” He continued rattling off this information as he jotted notes for Luke. “At the top of the dialog box change your home page to Use Blank. Click OK, close IE and reopen to see if your home page is now just blank. If that works, then go back to Tools, Internet Options, and in the middle of the dialog box choose in order: Delete Cookies, Delete Files, and then Clear History. That may well clean everything up.”

Luke stared at him. Then clearing his voice, he asked quietly, “What in the world are you talking about?”

Reaching for his bag of tools, the young guy stood up. Eyes averted, he said, “Getting rid of the problems related to X-rated websites.” He stammered. “Look, it’s tough to be alone.” Then bolting for the door, he added, “I won’t tell the diocese. They don’t ever do anything about this anyway. Call me if this doesn’t work. Just leave me a message saying that the spam has come back. I’ll know what it means.” Slamming the door behind him, he left, with a trail of questions in his wake.

Luke sat stunned. X-rated websites? Pop-ups? The only pop-ups he read about in seminary were demons popping up to tempt St. Antony, the father of monasticism, when the monk, celibate and fasting, lived in the rural caves of Alexandria, Egypt. Antony said to focus more on God when distracting temptations arise. Yet still Luke sat slumped over: what is going on here?

Upstairs Jerry approached his desk, his one place of luxury, to work on his PhD dissertation. Hoping to be a Jesuit, Jerry’s passion for Roman mythology led to this half-finished degree from Georgetown University. He wrote about the Roman Empire and especially Romulus and Remus raised by their mother wolf. As he frequently did, he looked out of his window to see the statue of the mother wolf sitting out front.

Today Jerry took out paper. The words flowed quickly about the mythical founder of Rome, the generous she-wolf tenderly caring for the babies while protecting from predators. A wolf-mother bringing ferocious protection and eternal love! Wolves symbolized the glory of ancient Rome, as well as the Jesuit Ignatius of Loyola who had wolves in his coat of arms. Soon, Jerry hoped, these images would come out in academic terms for his PhD dissertation. Springing up for his afternoon hospital visits, Jerry began to whistle an old Gregorian chant, Veni Spiritus, Come, Holy Spirit.

As Jerry sprinted toward the door, he almost ran into Hannah. Quickly she blurted, “Would you come help me pick up the reception food for tonight’s meeting?”

Jerry smiled. “Not today. Late for a prayer before a heart operation at Georgetown University Hospital.” Suddenly he added, “Ask Luke!” As her startled eyes met Jerry’s happy ones, Hannah heard a small “I can do it” from the priests’ office where Luke sat.

Hannah added slowly, “Okay.” After a pause, “I want to grab a sandwich first and maybe you are hungry also.” Luke swallowed hard, nodding yes.

She explained, “I know you are busy, but I won’t ever find a parking space around the caterer and if we both go, I can double-park and you can quickly run in to get it.”

He trailed after her, head down. Soon walking into the local Five Guys restaurant, they were greeted by red-and-white signs announcing that the potatoes were from Hatch Farms in Warden, Washington. Fifty-pound bags of potatoes lay against the side wall.

Ordering her grilled cheese sandwich, Hannah murmured to Luke, “The best French fries in Washington!”

Sitting at the white glossy table, Luke peeked across at the blonde woman. “Hey, wasn’t that latest park crime near here?”

“Yes, Mount Vernon Place, an historic park. Odd pinwheels cut into trees with dripping blood. Done at midnight. They taunt the authorities with these public ceremonies. With the new convention center right there, it seems odd to choose that for a crime.” She added with surprise. “Always something in this powerful city! Who do you think is doing this?”

Luke thought back to his studies. “Sounds like one of those weird worshiping groups. Who knows? I took some classes at Loyola and we studied cults that get involved with things like trances and things like that. Could be they are sacrificing animals.”

Then he said quietly, as he thought of a story to share, “When I took a Religious Studies class at Loyola University, I would drive up to Baltimore once a week.”

“That’s quite a long hike.”

He smiled and nodded. “I used to go through a drive-thru mid-way and have coffee. There was a drought. Everything was dry and brown. The person in the car in front of me threw a lighted cigarette butt out of his window.”

Hannah looked at him with puzzled green eyes.

Luke continued. “A small bush caught fire. The intercom lady asked me if I wanted to add a milkshake to my order. I said, “A bush has caught on fire here.” She responded, “I don’t understand you.” I begged her, “The bush is on fire and flames are starting. You need to bring a hose to put out the fire.” I heard, “Please, sir, just give me your order.””

Hannah started to smile.

Becoming alive, Luke laughed. “So I cupped my hands, like a megaphone and yelled. “Come quick. Big Fire!””

Hannah leaned forward.

Luke quickened his pace. “The next thing I see is a woman peeking around the corner. She sees the now blazing bush and yells, “Get the hoses!” Soon fire trucks roar up and soak the bush. Later the manager hands me the largest cup of coffee I had ever seen. “It’s free today!” he said.”

Laughing, their hands bumped as they both reached for a French fry.

Hannah retorted. “Shouldn’t you be encouraging burning bushes rather than drowning them?”

“Yes!”

Then swallowing, he abruptly added, “Do you notice anything odd at St. Charles?”

She looked at her Timex watch. “Father, I need to get back with the food for that meeting. Let me think about that one.”

At the next therapy meeting, Luke noticed that when he sat down, other priests seemed reluctant to sit next to him. His years in the church had taught him that probably someone gossiped about him.

After a brief opening prayer, Father Hudson began to talk. “The diocese always had a mix of priests. When I was a new priest, the clergy was divided about where you came from.”

Bruce agreed. “Now most of the division is between those who acknowledge that we are overworked and those who deny this.”

Reacting, Hudson said, “Some of our priests sow the seeds of discontent. Negativism.”

Jerry fueled the flying sparks. “A few years ago they named monsignors and divided us even more. We had no monsignors for thirty-seven years.” This comment sparked Luke to think, “Why Peter instead of me? And why any monsignors at all?”

Than Bruce blurted out in fiery frustration, “Oh, come on! If all we think about is our position, we’ve become superficial.”

Luke sat back. When he was ordained, he expected a group of men dedicated to God and community; he would stand united with them in love. And what had he found? A group of men divided over anything: background, titles, and the bishop. Friendship in this climate was tough. And maybe that caused the first part of the journey into darkness that many priests take. The minute after the ordination vows were taken, everything began to break apart. Was there a united, fraternal brotherhood and even a moment when the vision of Saint Ignatius was alive and truly flourishing?

On a darkened March night after a Saturday evening service, Luke walked into the church. Stopping suddenly, Luke saw mid-way up the first flight of stairs a tall figure standing with his long slender arms outstretched toward him. The shadows hid his mysterious face and yet the dancing light clothed him in a long gown of shiny silver luminescence with only darkness where the face should be. Hamlet’s ghost has come to warn me, Luke immediately thought. Outstretched bony, trembling fingers with open palms facing upwards reached out to him, imploring and begging. The ghastly fingers tried again and again to breach the gap to touch Luke, but were stopped. The hands pleaded for help and the dark, hidden face bespoke a visit from the underworld. Trembling, Luke reached for the light switch, the ghost was gone yet vestiges of an ancient terror gripped him.

“It’s dry,” Luke heard in a strangulated voice. The janitor Carlos was coming down the stairs, his pale face panting in an asthmatic attack. Luke quickly said, “Can I help?”

“I’ve already taken my medicine. It’s dry. Do you notice?”

“Yes, it’s everywhere.”

Luke slumped down and then said all he could think of. “We all feel it.” Luke grimaced. “I don’t understand what is happening here.”

Shakily, Luke walked upstairs. The ghost had both begged and warned.